


reasons are written in history if you can bear to remember them

by hiroshimalovers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, implied depression, implied racial discrimination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiroshimalovers/pseuds/hiroshimalovers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes your hands are shaking and you feel like you are going to vibrate right out of your skin. There are bad habits and bloody knuckles to ground you but none of it works very well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reasons are written in history if you can bear to remember them

**Author's Note:**

> Please see warnings. Crossposted to tumblr.

Sometimes your hands are shaking and you feel like you are going to vibrate right out of your skin. There are bad habits and bloody knuckles to ground you but none of it works very well.

(You remember being in seventh grade and being able to do twenty pushups with your scrawny body and that was enough for a moment before it started over, time and time again. You thought it would be temporary. How wrong you were.)

Growing up is not always a good thing, but you know that it is better to be here now than then, because now you do not have to rely on the whims of other people, with complete control. Now, you can hide or show yourself as you see fit, and no one but Enjolras is yelling at you that you are not right, you cannot be right.

He may stand tall and think in bright colors and strong ideals but sometimes he reminds you of things you don’t want to be reminded of, with his words that throw you running for a curveball and you look down but argue just the same because that was something that you couldn’t do 

(You remember being in ninth grade and shakily speaking your parents about who you think you are, and your mom slaps you across the face and they both frown down at you, and tell you that it is nonsense, that you are nothing, we know you best, are you trying to hurt us? and you closed your eyes and let it all wash over you, but you wanted to explode.)

Maybe it’s not alright to have a disassembled razor in every pack you buy, but it’s probably not alright to argue just to talk to someone, and you do both of those so it can’t matter too much. It can’t matter because no one ever said that it wasn’t okay to feel like this, so you figure it’s one of those unspoken rules of society so you stay quiet and you chain smoke and drink too much, and Enjolras nods at you and your heart speeds up, and you think fuck and that’s that. It is something and it is also nothing and if you think about his harsh words from the heat of the moment two weeks later, it’s not like it actually affects you, right?

(Still, you remember being in fourth grade and the teacher looming over you and holding up an F and saying, this can’t happen, you can do better, and you shrug and squeeze your eyes shut and she shakes you and you think, this is just what happens when you are naughty this has to be what happens to bad kids)

There is a day and there are many nights where you lie awake and wonder who you really are, and you also know that it can’t really matter, you see the news and the hate crimes and you think, it doesn’t change at all.

It has been implied that you are a terrorist too many times. You’ve been outright asked thrice. 

It is not alright but you can’t do anything about it and you can’t do anything because that is who you are. You are someone in the shadows with silence and arguments and absolutely nothing, and Enjolras stands there and preaches, fucking preaches, and you just don’t get it, you don’t fucking understand how he can believe, how he thinks everyone is something.

(You remember being a senior in high school and your counselor sitting you down and telling you that your SAT score could get you anywhere but your attitude isn’t going to let your feet leave the ground. You smoked half a pack that day and didn’t go to college)

On occasion, you paint but they are not good paintings, so you leave them around and sell sketches on the streets for five-ten-fifteen bucks and it’s not enough, but you bartend occasionally and you drink way too much and it all catches up to you.

Eponine asks if you are okay - you say yes but then Combeferre asks, and Bahorel, in his roundabout way, and Courfeyrac and even Cosette, and when Eponine asks again, you breathe out hard and sharp and your eyes prick with tears and think

no

no, because it may be a free country but you’re not free and enjolras isn’t going to change that. no, because you have been stuck with stigma your entire life. no, because gavroche is on a fast track to college but he won’t be able to go because eponine can’t pay. no, because your hands shake so fucking violently some days you drop three glasses and others you can’t move from your bed. 

Still, you nod and force a smile and she pats your shoulder and she knows and your fingers are graphite stained and your eyes are dark and there has not been a day passed in which you sleep enough and

(You remember meeting Enjolras for the first time, and he looked down his nose and he shone like a beacon, and you felt small even though you knew you weren’t and you thought he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. You still do.)

These days, you go through the motions but that’s all they are, motions and you are empty like the glasses you leave with money underneath. 

Enjolras taps your shoulder and you turn and say something scathing and he looks shocked but turns away, and that was that and a week later he slips you a pack of sticky notes and each one has something positive and you feel the ghost of a smile, and you both are forgiven

You go home and you drink but you wake up and see the note you are mildly attractive on the top of your dresser and suddenly that day is starting a little better and nothing really changes, because your breath doesn't come out right and your hands are rough and sharp but this is the start, where the terrifying lines fade into reality and ten drinks turns into five

You wake up and that’s when you start to bloom.


End file.
